The Ride
by kittsbud
Summary: Dean and Sam pick up a girl who claims to be a ghost hunter, but exactly who is she, and what is she hunting?
1. Chapter 1

**Okay...this is my first ever 'Supernatural' fan fiction, so please let me know if I'm doing anything wrong ;) **

Dean Winchester took his foot from the gas pedal and let the raven-black Impala slide around the pin-sharp bend with ease. The car's engine lulled as it decelerated, only to roar with an unearthly growl seconds later when Dean reapplied power.

It was close to midnight on a lonely stretch of Nevada highway, but that was nothing to the Winchester brothers. The witching hour was their time to hunt.

Sam Winchester sighed, looking down for the hundredth time at his father's battered journal as it sat innocently in his lap. It had led them on many quests, and given many answers, but never to their dad's whereabouts. "Do we have to look into this whole phantom whirlwind deal, Dean? Dad's trail is cold already and we're moving in the opposite direction to his last known location…"

Dean licked his lips and took his eyes from the pitch-black road for a second. "We've already been through this so many times," He shivered, the cold desert air proving too much for his thin t-shirt and leather jacket. "Dad would want us on this case, Sammy. You know it!"

Sam did. If there was one thing he knew for certain about their father it was his relentless drive to kill the unholy. That didn't mean Sam had to always agree with it. For a time, he'd even thought he could study and live a normal life…until Jess had been taken. He fingered the journal, and then returned it to the glove box where he'd taken it from.

"Dean, you might want to take a look where you're going!" The younger brother gestured frantically ahead into the glare from the headlights.

The Impala had strayed very slightly onto the sandy edge of the road surface and was headed straight towards what appeared to be a young woman in brightly colored clothes, hiking along the highway.

Dean put his eyes back on the road and jerked the steering wheel. "Whoa!" The 67 Chevy snaked a little then slowed as he tapped the brakes. "What the hell is she doing out in the middle of nowhere at this time of night anyway?" He groused, but as they cruised level with the woman he lowered the car's window and smiled roguishly. "Now what's a nice girl like you doing hiking along a lonely desert highway?"

"Trying to avoid jerks in ancient rust buckets who stray onto the verge?" The woman whirled around, but couldn't help but smile at the two men in the car beside her.

Sam grinned at her attitude with his overly-confident brother, but in truth he wondered what she was doing out so late alone too. "You really shouldn't be out here by yourself. Can we give you a ride?"

"Don't mind if I do!" The twenty-something blonde climbed into the rear seat and slammed the door behind her. "So, you guys heading into the next town, or just passing through?" her eyes sparkled as if she were genuinely interested. "My names Samantha, by the way, but my friends call me Sammy."

Dean picked up speed and couldn't help glancing at Sammy every few seconds in the rear view. She was pretty, without even the need for makeup. "I'm Dean and this is my brother…he's a Sammy too."

The remark earned him a dirty look, but nothing more. Instead, Sam focused on the girl. "It really is dangerous to be out here at night. How did you even know you could trust us? Do you always get in strange cars?" There was concern in his voice, but Sammy shrugged it off.

"I guess I thought I could trust you two guys…" She rummaged in her bright pink purse, but didn't bring anything out.

Dean looked in the mirror again. Something was off, but he couldn't determine what. "So, Sammy, you never answered my question. Why the hell are you out here alone and at night?"

The girl smiled straight at her hosts. "I'm ghost hunting…"

Dean had to choke back his surprise. "You're what?"

The girl jerked a thumb back to the area they'd just left behind. "Ghost hunting, you know…" she began whistling the 'Ghostbusters' theme.

Sam shook his head and glanced warily at his brother. It was too much to believe that this person would just happen upon them, and that she too would be a modern-day ghost chaser. "Just what kind of ghost were you after? And how did you get all the way out here by yourself?" This time, his questions were not so amiable.

Maybe the girl was a cop. Heaven only knew how many credit card scams Dean had run in his time. It would catch up with them someday. The car they drove stuck out like a sore thumb after all.

Sammy didn't appear phased by the Winchester brothers sudden concerned voices. She flicked her blonde hair back. "A friend of mine brought me out here. Pete Garland… everybody knows Pete around here…"

"And the guy left you?" Dean looked over his shoulder for a second as he tightly gripped the wheel. "What a jerk. But that still doesn't explain just what the hell you're doing here?"

"Spook hunting, I told you." Sammy gazed out of the nearest side window, letting her eyes peer into the darkness of the desert. "There's a local story," she eventually elaborated. "Something about girls being killed by some monster out on the highway. There was never any proof, but some say the girls' spirits haunt that stretch of road you picked me up on." The girl smiled wanly. "It's just a story, but I thought I'd get a kick out of coming out here…"

"You're nuts!" Dean grinned, "Pretty, but nuts all the same…" He took a left turn as he hit a stretch of road with overhead streetlights, and then headed for a seedy motel in the distance. "Can I drop you somewhere?" He didn't like to leave her, it seemed like she had some weird death wish, walking the highway like she had.

Sammy nodded to the motel now looming in the Impala's headlights. "I'll get out here. I can walk…"

Dean reluctantly pulled the Chevy into the motel's somewhat impromptu lot. It was more a levelled out stretch of sand with a beat up fence than anything. He killed the ignition and turned, but Sammy had already hopped out of the car.

Sam followed her pretty closely, and leaning on the Impala's roof he called her back. "Hey, just tell me one thing? Do _you_ believe in monsters and ghosts?"

Sammy smiled. "Out on that highway, yeah, I do!" She turned then and jogged towards the motel office with a spring in her step.

Dean couldn't stop from grinning as her purse bobbed up and down on her butt as she sprinted and left them. "Think she's gone to check us in?" He raised a brow mischievously.

"Knock it off, Dean. Maybe there really is something out there on the highway. Maybe it's the thing we came to Nevada to find." Sam slammed his door. "Come on, Romeo, let's go get our room…"

Dean shrugged. Somehow, Sam always managed to dampen his light-hearted fun. "Okay, okay." He held his hands in the air in defeat and then slipped one to his inside jacket pocket to thumb out yet another fake credit card.

As they entered the motel office he frowned- not because of how filthy the place was, or how unwelcoming the proprietor looked, but because Sammy was nowhere to be seen.

Sam felt exactly the same way. "Where did the girl go?" he addressed the stocky, greasy-haired man behind the counter.

"What girl? Ain't no girl been in this joint all night…"

Dean turned to his brother looking puzzled. "Didn't I just see a blonde by the name of Sammy breeze in here?"

Sam nodded, but was sure the man behind the counter wasn't lying. In fact, he was now looking at them as if they were on drugs. "Never mind," Sam brushed the incident aside, "Do you have a room for the night?"

The man huffed, but nodded. "Sign the book…" He tossed a grimy key from a hook behind the counter and then shook his head with a grin as Dean offered up his credit card. "We don't take plastic. Cash only!"

Dean grimaced and was tempted to make his brother pay. Instead, he pulled out a small wad of notes he'd won at yet another game of poker. "So, you don't know any blonde girls named Sammy. I don't suppose you know any guys named Pete Garland either?"

At the name, the man flinched as if it brought back bad memories. "Pete…sure I know him. He works down at the local garage. Pretty good with his hands too, if you ever need your Impala servicing." He pointed outside to the car's shadow in the lot.

Dean shook his head with a frown. "Thanks, but I'm pretty particular who touches my car. Where can we find this garage?"

"About half a mile down the road, but they're closed for the night now."

Sam scooped up their room key. "Thanks, we'll check it out in the morning."

"Just one thing…" The man pointed a finger at the brothers as if he'd recalled something long forgotten and just had to suddenly tell them. Either that, or he couldn't in good conscience lie any longer. "I never said I didn't know a blonde girl called Sammy. I just said she never came in here tonight…she couldn't have…not the Sammy I'm thinking of."

Dean spun back around. "Oh? And why not?" Somehow, from the expression on the guy's face, he had a pretty good clue of the answer before it came.

"Sammy was killed out on the highway over eight months ago." The man cringed at the recollection. "We had a spate of girls get killed out there. Horrific it was, but they never found the thing that did it…"

"Thing?" Sam's brow furrowed. "You make it sound like it wasn't an ordinary murder case." He waited for their host to answer, not wanting to probe too far in case he clammed up.

"Ain't no man could have done that to seven pretty girls. It was barbaric…you go ask Pete. He knows, he was Sammy's boyfriend, and he found her body out there…mutilated it was…" The man's eyes abruptly narrowed as he realized Sam and Dean were not perturbed by his revelation. "You boys don't seem too freaked that you maybe had a spook in your car."

"It wouldn't be the first…" Dean mumbled under his breath and was rewarded by a slight kick from his brother. "Ouch, I was simply stating the facts…"

"Let's just say we're open-minded." Sam offered more stridently and turned before he could be questioned further.

"More open-minded, huh?" Dean grinned as the pair headed for their room. "So, what does Mr. open-minded think we're dealing with here? We have a restless spirit for sure, but what does she want? Why get in the car with us? Surely she knows we 'dispose' of her kind?"

Sam popped the key in the lock and opened their room door to reveal a small but cosy area with two beds. "I'm thinking she wanted to contact us. She wants our help to solve this so no one else gets hurt. Maybe that's why she brought the ghost hunting up."

Dean shrugged as he peeled off his leather jacket and bounced down on the nearest bed. "So, you're suggesting we have a double case here? Sammy the spook and the thing she wants us to catch? Whew." He whistled, "And I thought the phantom whirlwind case was going to be different."

"What say we get some pizza, watch some TV, and go visit the boyfriend Pete first thing in the morning?"

"Sounds good." Dean smirked, "As long as you're paying for the pizza, and your idea of morning isn't five thirty again like the time we hunted the shape shifter in St Lois."

Sam nodded. "Deal…but I get to choose the topping, and I get to question the boyfriend first."

Dean raised a brow. "You think he's involved?" When Sam didn't reply right away Dean scowled. "You really liked her, didn't you?"

Sam glanced at the floor and sighed. "She didn't deserve to die. Just like Jess didn't. Maybe this is one occasion I can at least find the killer…"

_Tbc..._


	2. Chapter 2

The early morning Nevada sun broke through the motel room window far too soon for Dean Winchester's liking. He'd had yet another night of fitful sleep due to his brother's constant nightmares, and his neck was stiff from the lump under his pillow- the hilt of a large hunting knife he kept handy just in case of an unwanted visitor.

"Want some coffee?" Sam's quiet voice asked as Dean swung his legs over the side of his bed.

Dean brushed a hand through his hair and yawned. "I thought you'd never ask. Just tell me it's later than 5.30…"

Sam smiled a little and passed his brother a mug of coffee. "Barely," he admitted. "But I wanted to get an early start and catch up with this Pete Garland. I think if anyone can help us solve this puzzle, he can."

Dean exhaled. "I hope you're right, because I really don't like spooks that drive my car…"

"Sammy didn't drive, she just hitched a ride."

Dean pulled a face. "Yeah, well the woman in white started out that way, and look where my car ended up!" He took down the hot coffee he'd been handed in one gulp and headed for their room's small shower compartment. "I sure hope you know what you're getting us into…" The elder brother's voice trailed as he turned on the hot water and his words were drowned out from the spray.

An hour later, the pair were waiting outside the local garage for Pete Garland to turn into work. Dean tapped at his Chevy's steering wheel impatiently as he glanced down the lonely desert road. When his drumming fingers failed to alleviate the boredom, he flicked on the car's stereo system and turned up the volume.

Sam scowled, but knew it was no use telling his brother to turn off the Metallica track now bursting his eardrums. "Why do you think the killings stopped?" He almost shouted above the blasting guitar solo playing from all four speakers.

Dean shrugged. "Maybe our killer hasn't found another girl suited to his tastes lately. Maybe he or it has moved on."

"No, if the killer was gone, Sammy wouldn't have appeared to us. She either wants her murderer found, or she wants to stop it happening again." Sam noted a red Dodge pickup ambling along the road and nodded towards it. "Looks like someone's here. Let's go see if it's our guy." He climbed from the Impala and gently closed the door behind him.

Dean followed and deftly locked the car before letting his brother take the lead.

"Hi, we're with the Yuma Police Department. We're looking for a Peter Garland." Sam flashed a fake I.D. from one of many that Dean had manufactured. "I'm officer King and this is my partner officer Carpenter…"

The man in his late twenties let his cab door click closed and eyed the two before him with a frown. "I'm Pete Garland, but what would two Arizona cops want with me?" He looked slightly puzzled, but jerked a thumb back towards the garage. "Let me open up and we can talk inside over a can of coke if you like?"

Dean nodded. "That would be great." As they bobbed under the workshop shutter he mouthed to Sam, "King and Carpenter? Are you nuts?" Sam grinned back. The daring charm of his elder brother was obviously rubbing off somewhat and Dean had noticed.

Ahead, Garland had paused at a battered vending machine and flicked in a few coins. Seconds later he tossed both brothers an ice-cold drink. "So, like I said, what do you guys want with me? I mean, no disrespect but you don't even have jurisdiction in this state."

Sam nodded. "That's right, we don't. We just want to ask you a few questions about your girl friend Sammy and the day she died." He watched for a reaction from the blonde mechanic, but saw none. Pete was either genuine, or very good at hiding his emotions.

"Sammy's been dead months. Why have you showed up now?" Garland took a sip from his own can and swallowed slowly.

"We just had a similar killing over in Yuma and your local boys thought there might be a connection. They told us we should speak to you. You were the last one to see Sammy alive, right?" Dean put down his drink and walked closer to Garland. The move somehow seemed to intimidate the garage worker and he stiffened.

"I found Sammy out on the highway. Not that there was much left to find. She'd pretty much been eviscerated." He paused, staring from the grimy shutter glass out into the desert. "Still, at least I found her. Some of the others were never found…only where they'd been killed…"

"Where?" Dean raised a brow and then instantly realized his mistake.

"Yeah, the altars, Man…but then if you were really cops you'd already know about that." Garland's tone changed from wary to extremely suspicious. "Where'd you say you're from again?"

"Yuma Police department," Dean asserted, "And I didn't mean where they'd been killed as in the altars, I meant where were the altars located. Can you show us?" He quickly covered.

Garland looked pained and glanced away again as if he needed to think before answering. "I loved Sammy…she didn't deserve to go that way. I'll do anything I can to help you find what monster did this." He sniffled a little, and pulled a cloth from his overall pocket as if he were about to break down. Somehow, he composed himself enough to continue, "I have a callout to tend. Car broken down the other side of town, but I'll gladly meet you out on the highway afterwards." He took a small notepad and jotted down some directions. "Meet me here in thirty minutes and I'll show you everything I can."

Sam took the piece of paper he was handed and nodded. "We appreciate this."

Back outside the garage, Dean paused before unlocking the Impala. "Do you believe that guy?" he raised a brow.

Sam thought about it. "Something seemed off just like it did the night we picked Sammy up. I'm not sure whether he's out and out lying, or if he still can't get over what he saw…" Sadness came into his eyes and he looked down to his sand-dusted boots. Memories of Jess, his own girlfriend's death flooded his subconscious and he turned cold.

Dean wasn't so sympathetic with Garland. "Can't get over it my ass. He was too suspicious, as if he had something to hide…like maybe seven other girls dead bodies…" Without saying more, he hopped behind the wheel and cranked up more rock music.

Sam hopped in next to his brother and the Impala sped off as Pete Garland watched cagily from the still open garage shutter doors.

_Tbc..._


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry about the delay! **

It didn't take Dean long to reach the first turn off on Garland's directions. He slowed the Impala, sitting forward in his seat to look over its sand-dusted hood. "Am I imagining things, or is this about where we picked Sammy up last night?" He looked across to his brother and raised a brow.

Sam nodded. It had been pretty dark, but the distance from the motel and a few other roadside landmarks left little doubt. "This is it," he affirmed. "I remember that rusted out Pontiac over there."

A few hundred yards away, the hulk of a long-dead 54 model coupe sat eerily in the desert. It leaned to the South, its eroded metal frame reminding the younger Winchester of a fleshless skeleton.

Dean inhaled. Something wasn't right, he could sense it. He looked again at the notepaper Garland had given them, and then gently tugged his Chevy off the main road and onto a desert track. "We needed a Jeep for this…" He scowled, hating to make his classic do the job of a modern 4x4.

Sam ignored his brother's protests and squinted, looking ahead into the sun at where they were headed. On the horizon, he could see what looked like a dilapidated metal-constructed building, and yet more rotting cars to its rear. "I think your car will be right at home with those…" He smiled a little. "In fact, isn't that an Impala I see there?"

Dean rolled his eyes, but was actually glad of Sam's light-hearted distraction. The place they were going may look like a breakers yard, but it had seen much more than car bodies be dismantled in its time. "Yeah, well, maybe I'll grab a few spares." He retorted, pulling his own car up just short of the crumbling shack. "Shall we grab a few tools of the trade before we start the party?"

Sam nodded and hopped out first, wanting to get first choice of what was in the Impala's trunk. A variety of weapons awaited them, but this time it was hard to know what to choose. They had one definite ghost it was true, but Sammy wasn't the real problem. He eyed the plethora of implements. "I think I'm gonna go with a good old fashioned hunting knife and a forty-five. I really don't think our perp is going to respond to rock salt this time…"

Dean grinned as he joined his brother. "Just because Garland isn't a manifestation, doesn't mean good old rock salt won't knock him on his butt till the cops get here if he tries anything." He grabbed the shotgun and a handful of cartridges. "Do you think he'll even show up?" Dean cocked the barrel and loaded it as he spoke, but then paused as something hit him- something cold.

From nowhere, an icy breeze enveloped him, bringing a shiver to even the hardened ghost hunter's body. The chilly zephyr whipped past him with such force the nearby rotting Impala began to creak and groan with the gust's intensity. The metallic groaning sounded almost like a human wail. And then it came- so faint only Dean perceived it.

"Don't go…" It was Sammy's voice, weak, but compelling, as if not carried by the breeze, but by the mystical energy of the dead. "He will take you…"

Dean swallowed hard and looked across to his brother. "Did you hear that?"

Sam shook his head. "No, but I felt it." He pointed with his automatic to the still rocking carcass of a car before them. "And I sure as hell saw that. What did you hear?" He asked, knowing Dean was definitely spooked by the expression on his face.

"It was Sammy, or something that sounded a hell of a lot like her. She was warning us that someone will take us…"

Sam shook his head. "I don't like this." He glanced around at the desolate yard and shack. "We've never dealt with anything like it before…"

Dean shrugged but grabbed his jacket from the rear seat of the Impala, suggesting the chilly breeze had done more to his confidence than he was admitting. Once it was in place, he rested the shortened barrel of his weapon on his shoulder and moved out. "I'll take the yard, you take the shack," He prompted, eyeing the now still Chevy in front of him warily.

Sam nodded, but didn't speak. Instead, he focused on the crumbling shack before him. The sheet metal walls had corroded in several places, and the rust that had formed had left orange red streak marks from the rare rain showers the desert succumbed to. To Sam, the streaks looked like garish blood trails, as if the building had wounds that could never heal. Perhaps in its own way, it did.

He moved on, pushing the thought of a possessed shack from his mind. Places could be haunted, yes, but Garland was no spirit, and he was the evil at work here. "I hope…" Sam muttered under his breath.

"Death will find you here…"

Sam whirled around as he entered the structure, his own shadow in the doorframe casting the light until it appeared he was not alone. The voice didn't come again, but it didn't have to. Sammy was with him somewhere here. He had heard her now too.

Sam gulped and let the cool metal of the knife in his hand reassure him that he was in control of the situation. Then, he moved further inside the shack.

Light cascaded through the holes in the walls and half-illuminated the scene. From what Sam could see, the shack had once been a garage of some kind, but that had been a long, long time ago. The calendar on the far wall was dated April 14th 1967, and from the remains of an ancient car lift that still inhabited the building, Sam decided it hadn't been used since.

"Like what you see, Boy?"

Sam turned, but was surprised to see the face behind the voice. It was Garland, but his accent was different now- almost guttural. He stood with his arms folded, blocking the exit. "I don't 'see' anything." It was an honest answer. There was no sign of any altar, or any other place of death.

Garland sneered and stepped closer. Once he moved from the sunlit doorway, Sam noticed his eyes seemed blank, dead even. All the color appeared to have left them until he looked almost like an albino. "You all know what happened here. You were part of it, just like the others, but they've paid. They'll all pay. I sent em to hell, and they screamed for the master's mercy."

"You sent them?" Sam probed, wondering just who he was really speaking with, because it sure as heck wasn't Garland. In body maybe, but definitely not in soul.

"They deserved nothing less. All that family were the same, always…" Garland moved forward again, this time with unnatural speed.

Even if Sam had been expecting it, there was little he could have done to avoid the move. Garland was in front of him in a millisecond, lashing out with the back of his hand so quickly his arm was nothing more than a blur. Expertly, the mechanic- or whoever he now was, snapped back Sam's left arm and removed the hunting knife from it.

Sam yelped with pain, but still managed to aim the forty-five in his still free hand. Squeezing back hard on the trigger, he let out three rounds point blank at Garland's skull.

Part of Sam's subconscious expected an explosion of bone and flesh as the slugs hit home, but it didn't happen. Instead, Garland let out a manic cackle and swiped the weapon from the younger brother's hand. "I died a long time ago, Boy, and Pete here," He pinched his own chest. "Well, Pete done sold his soul to the devil awhile back, and the master just happened to lend me the shell…"

Sam felt his body being lifted as Garland pinned him to the rusty wall with just one hand. His feet dangled from the floor, and he saw the hunting knife being raised ready to plunge into his heart. "If you're not really Garland…who are you?" He struggled to choke out the words, "Why kill all those girls…"

Garland's white eyes danced, but it was obvious he had no intention of playing Sam's game. He was out here for the kill, and that's what he was going to do. The blade twisted in his grip, and he started his lunge with a malicious grin across his features.

Sam closed his own eyes and began to pray, but for some reason the icy sensation of steel cutting into his body didn't come. He dared to look up. Garland had paused mid-thrust and was staring back at the open doorway. Sam couldn't hear a thing, but he guessed someone was coming. _Dean! I have to warn him!_

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Garland looked back, sensing the brother's fear. Garland liked fear. With one swift move he slid the hunting knife around in his hand, slamming its hilt into his captive's skull. Sam fell unconscious and limp in the possessed man's grasp, unaware of what grim future now awaited his brother.

Dean walked through the abandoned yard, taking care where he walked for fear of traps. He didn't usually deal with human killers, but he had crossed a few half-humans in his time, and maybe Garland was one of them.

A creaking, scratching noise erupted from his left side, and he turned, placing his shotgun in front of him before moving forward towards the new sound. There was nothing to see. Rotting hulks of long-dead vehicles lay atop one another, but not even the wind stirred them. Where ever the clatter had come from, it was gone now.

"Rats…of the non-earthly persuasion…" Dean muttered to himself, and then licked his lips, wondering how his brother was doing back inside the shack. He stole a glance backwards towards the structure, wishing he had the ability to see through walls.

There was no sign of Sam, or of the man they pursued, Garland. Dean swallowed and again continued his sweep of the area. Someone, or something could be hiding in the decaying cars, but it wouldn't be easy to spot them without getting too close for comfort.

As the thought left his mind, a swatch of color danced before his eyes behind a slate grey Pontiac, and he tensed- the colors matched what Sammy had been wearing when they had picked her up.

"Sammy?" Dean strained his eyes, but the blurry, formless thing he had momentarily glimpsed was gone. He shuddered at having to call a ghost his brother's name and changed tactics. "Samantha? I know who you are, what you are. I know what happened and I can help…if you let me…"

A soft, cold hand brushed the uncovered flesh on Dean's right arm, making the tiny hairs on his skin stand to attention. He instinctively spun around on one foot, his boot kicking up the loose desert sand. The yard was empty, but the breeze from earlier was back. This time, the current of air was far more intense.

"He will take you as he took me, as he took the others, and as he took Peggy Lee…"

Dean owned the voice. It was the same as before- Sammy. "Who took you? Pete Garland?" He raised a brow, not afraid to speak with the dead. "Who's Peggy Lee? I don't recognize her name as anyone killed on this route lately?" As he talked, he headed for the epicentre of Sammy's haunting tones.

She seemed to be drawing him further away from the shack. "Peggy Lee was the first…the catalyst…He will take you…beware…" This time, the words faded and did not return.

Dean frowned, annoyed that he had been given another small piece off the puzzle, and it only made things more intriguing.

From the shack, a clattering broke further thought, and the elder brother turned once again. There was no one in view, but now things were getting really interesting. His Impala's trunk was closed, but someone had just emptied most of its ghost-hunting contents out onto the harsh grainy ground. To what end, Dean had no clue, but he intended to find out.

Heading straight for the jet-black vehicle, he remained poised for action, his finger caressing the shotgun's trigger ready to pull hard back. "Sam?" This time, he wasn't aiming his words at the spook, but his brother. "Sam? That you?"

There was no reply, and he really hadn't expected one, but it was always better to ask before risking knocking a sibling on his ass. Dean moved around the car cautiously, and was surprised to see the trunk still locked. _I have the only set of keys…_

He looked down at his prize collection of weapons. "Something is gonna pay for ruining my rig…"

"Ruining? I haven't even begun with it yet!" Garland appeared from nowhere. His waxen pupils flashed like hell's white-hot fire, and his limbs moved faster than the speed of light. His left arm grabbed the barrel of the shotgun and deflected its aim away from his body.

Dean pulled the trigger reflexively, but the rock salt simply spattered the shack's side wall harmlessly. "You…hell-spawned bast…"

The thing that was Garland didn't allow him to finish. Whipping out the hunting knife it had taken from Sam in one hand, he seized Dean's throat with the other and forced his upper body down on the Impala's trunk lid.

Dean grabbed at Garland's wrist with both hands, trying to free his iron-clad grip as he choked, but the evil one was just too strong.

"I think it's time for you to stick around while I prepare myself." Garland purposefully let his captive see the shiny blade was his own brother's before he plunged it down hard into his victim's flesh.

Inside the trunk, the rocking motion from outside had finally begun to make Sam stir. He blinked, blurry-eyed, and then winced at the pain bombarding his skull. Carefully, he managed to place a hand on where he'd been struck. It felt wet and sticky, confirming the crack had been as hard as he remembered.

The Impala rocked again, and Sam squirmed in the cramped area in which he'd been placed. For a moment, he thought he even heard Dean's voice. "Dean!"

There was no reply, but just as the word had left his mouth something rammed through the metal of the Chevy like a jousters lance. Sam couldn't see what it was in the darkness, and frantically began hunting around in the black void with his hands for where he knew dean kept a tiny penlight hidden.

It took only thirty seconds, but to Sam it seemed longer. Twisting the end, the trunk suddenly became illuminated with an intense yellow light. Sam felt a thick lump rise in his throat. Piercing the Impala's classic body panel was the tip of a hunting knife- his hunting knife. And as he watched, mesmerized, a trickle of dark red blood began to seep through the edges of the entry hole and drip onto his jacket. There was no place to escape, and no way to know if he was being covered in his own brother's life's blood.

"Dean!" Sam's fearful yell permeated the long dead vehicle yard and dissipated into the desert, unheard except by the thing that now possessed Pete Garland…

_Tbc.._


	4. Chapter 4

Dean Winchester wanted to howl as Sam's blade pierced his shoulder, impaling him to his own car's trunk, but somehow, he didn't. Whether it was defiance and sheer willpower, or shock, even he wasn't really sure. He had fully expected Garland to finish him in one blow, why he hadn't remained a mystery- not that that particular mystery was high in his priorities right now.

The only thing on Dean's mind was then pain in his shoulder, and the garish sensation of metal rubbing on flesh and sinew.

Garland smirked at the ghost hunter's obvious discomfort. "Don't worry, just as soon as I've prepared a few things, you'll meet your maker." He grinned again. "Or maybe not…"

Dean watched helplessly as the mechanic sauntered to one of the nearby scrap cars and opened the trunk. He began tugging out sections of wood, and a cloth bag stained with old blood. Once he had all the items, he began to lock the wooden pieces together until a shape began to form- an altar.

Dean looked away and winced, gritting his teeth as he tried to pull the knife from his body with his good hand, and failing. The weapon was embedded into the Impala's metal and wasn't about to budge. "Let Sam tell me this thing is ancient and rotten again and I'll…" He yanked again, trying to use anger to give him more strength, but the pain was just too much.

He remained pinned to the trunk, panting, and time was running out.

"Dean!" The muffled sound of his brother's voice filled his ears, and Dean thought he was already hallucinating from shock. "What the…"

"Dean!" The yelp came again, this time accompanied by a banging on the trunk under his body. Dean felt the pressure of Sam's thumps through the metal.

"Dude, calm down already." Dean gathered himself and tried to sound a lot healthier than he was feeling. "I need you to find my penlight and then whack on the thing sticking thru the trunk with my tire iron. Okay?"

There was silence. Dean wasn't even sure if Sam's voice had been real, but then as he watched Garland begin to paint the devil's symbols on the ground, a jolt from below almost made him pass out. The knife in his shoulder jarred but didn't totally release from the Chevy's frame. If he could have rolled over, Dean felt sure he would have been sick, but right now he couldn't afford that, or he might choke.

Garland kept his back to the car, chanting now as he prepared the items for his ritual sacrifices. Dean gulped. It was as if Garland knew what they were doing, and knew their escape would fail.

"Again Sam…" Dean croaked out the words, dreading the blow that would come next. He felt hot, was that pain, fever, shock?

Dean closed his eyes and felt his teeth grind on one another he was clenching them so hard. Then, it came again. The breeze that was definitely ethereal in its source. He sensed the blade in his shoulder move slightly, but not from Sam's blow- at least not his brother Sam.

Daring to look, Dean's eyes fluttered open, and standing above him, hands clasped around the knife, was Samantha. She had physical form again now, just like the night they had given her a ride. "Sammy?" The name came out a whisper.

Sammy didn't acknowledge his words. She didn't even look straight at the man she was about to rescue. Instead, her features contorted in temper as she peered longingly, hatefully at Garland. She wanted to kill him, or worse, but she couldn't leave Dean. Her time on earth had been granted for one thing, and revenge wasn't an option.

Dean groaned as somehow, the spirit of a young girl managed to tug out the blade which he and Sam had not been able to remove. As the cool steel exited his body, Sammy vanished, taking the hunting knife with her.

Dean let his good hand slide over the entry wound as he slumped from the trunk down to the floor. He gasped a few lungsful of air and composed himself. He'd been injured before and still dealt with an evil spirit, and he was going to have to do it again. First though, he had to get the Impala's keys out of his pocket and free Sam.

Shaking, he forced a hand in to his jeans pocket and pulled out the fob. It jangled annoyingly in his fumbling grasp, and he feared Garland would hear it, but still, Dean managed to force it into the trunk lock.

The trunk popped with a thump as its hinges jerked backwards, and Sam flew out like a raging bull. He knew Dean had been hurt, and the perpetrator was close by. Now, that perpetrator was going to pay.

Garland turned, amazed that either of his quarry had been able to free themselves. It shouldn't have happened, not according to the master's teachings. Something crossed his mind that there had been otherworldly intervention, but for now that was of no consequence. The Winchesters were an annoyance that would have made a good sacrifice, but the real thing he wanted was much more important. Nothing could be risked for that.

As Sam barrelled towards him, Garland decided to turn tail and run. That way, he would still be able to make the ultimate killing in a few hours time. "It would have been nice to have stuck around and sparred with you, but…Peggy won't wait all day…"

Sam reached out a hand, daring to lunge at Garland without even a weapon. However, his fingers slid through the killer like pushing a hand into thick oil. Garland laughed and then vanished in a fit of insane laughter. It was like he had been 'beamed up' on some Sci Fi show, except this wasn't fiction, it was ghoulish reality.

Sam gaped. Of all the things he had encountered, Garland was unique. He shook of the thought and raced back to the Impala at full throttle. Dean was more important right now than some spook freak.

"Dean!"

"Gee, Dude, thanks for finally remembering me!" Dean pushed up on one arm, despite his brother's protestations that he should remain where he was. "Quit, flapping and give me a hand."

Sam did as he was told, helping to prop Dean precariously on the Chevy's hood. Then he teased back his brother's shirt to view the damage. "Jeez, you're still bleeding. We should…"

"We should get my gear back in the trunk and find out who Peggy Lee is before it's too late." Dean raised a brow and then pointed to all their ghost hunting garb littering the floor.

"You know the name? How?" While Sam waited for his brother's reply, he began tossing items back into the open trunk until he found what he was looking for. Being a hunter tended to be a dangerous job, so they always carried a few first aid items- just in case.

"Sammy mentioned the name twice back in the junkyard." Dean winced as Sam pressed gauze over the knife wound front at back. "Argh, this is the last time you get to play nurse," he cursed appreciatively.

Sam continued unabashed. "You've seen her again?"

Dean nodded, exhaling sharply as Sam finished his prodding. "Who do you think saved my ass? Not you, trunk boy." He tugged his shirt back over his shoulder and tentatively eased himself into the Impala's passenger seat. "Sammy said this Peggy Lee was the catalyst. The first. What I don't get is, if she was the first victim, how the heck can he kill this babe again?"

Sam thought about it as he picked up several different sized wooden crosses and four boxes of rock salt-filled shells. "Local library visit?" His brow furrowed questioningly. "Once you've seen someone about that shoulder," he added forcefully.

Dean smirked, shook his head, and pulled the Impala's door closed with a painful sounding grunt. "No time for either, but I'm betting I know someone who can help us." He tossed the car's keys through the already open window and Sam caught them. "Get your sorry behind the wheel before I change my mind and drive one handed…AND with rock music…"

Sam rolled his eyes. Even hurt, Dean was the perfect pain in the ass brother he loved so much. He was like a cowboy – heck, outlaw even from pioneering days, riding across country doing what he did best. Nobody beat him at his job, and right now, that job might save a girl's life.

Sam pulled the Impala up back in their motel's small lot and looked at his rather pallid looking brother expectantly. "Are you sure this is the place to be searching for answers right now?"

Dean nodded and grimaced as he tugged himself out of the car. His shoulder was throbbing, but he wasn't about to admit that to Sam. "The old guy who owns this place seemed pretty knowledgeable about the folks around here last night. I'm thinking he might have heard of this 'Peggy Lee.' He's our nearest and best shot."

Sam noted Dean was struggling to stand straight, but he didn't mention it. "If this doesn't work out, we're getting your shoulder looked at before we do anything else." He asserted.

Dean shot a glance back that said 'yeah right, I think not' and then carried on into the dusty office area. He squirmed as he saw the person sitting behind the counter was not the man from the night before.

"Can I help you boys?" The woman looked about the same age as the old guy, but her eyes were sharper.

"We were hoping to speak to the guy who was on duty last night." Sam leaned on the old brown wooden counter and gave the woman his best 'prince charming' smile.

"That would be Herb, my husband. I'm Loretta," She explained. "Herb's sleeping right now. Something wrong with your room?" Her eyes narrowed as if she'd heard plenty of complaints before and was ready for more should they be sent her way.

"No ma'am," Dean turned on his wily charms, cradling his arm, while still managing to appear suave. "Herb, that is, your husband, helped us find someone last night. We were kinda hoping he could do the same again."

Loretta relaxed somewhat. "There's not many people around here I don't know. Been living in these parts too long. Who ya looking for?"

"Do you know anyone named Peggy Lee?" Sam held his breath as he waited for a reply.

Loretta didn't even have to think about it. She crossed her arms and nodded sadly. "Do I! That name won't ever be forgotten in this town. Peggy and I used to work together at the local hospital back in the sixties. Peggy was a great nurse and she loved the kids she tended to…"

"So, you and Peggy were nurses?" Sam liked that idea. Maybe the old woman could look at Dean's shoulder. "What happened?" He urged more from the bristly old woman.

"Nah, I was no nurse. I was too dumb for that job. I was just a cleaner there. Peggy, though, she was so pretty she could have had any guy in town- even the rich ones. She didn't even need to work."

Dean wobbled a little and grabbed the counter. "Look, can we just get to the important part? Like what happened to Peggy?"

Loretta huffed. "Sonny, you should sit your butt down before you fall on it. Then maybe I'll tell you." She indicated to a scruffy old chair in the corner. The padded area was torn and the sponge was hanging out, but it felt like heaven as Dean did as he was told for once and sat on it. Satisfied, Loretta continued. "Peggy was killed way back in the sixties. You see, she got involved with a guy by the name of Walt Crenshaw. I told her he was a no-gooder but she wouldn't listen."

Sam bit his lip. It was weird, just like they thought. If Peggy Lee was dead, then why was the spirit inside Garland hell bent on killing her again? Not that you could kill a dead person anyway- well, medically speaking at least.

Loretta didn't spot his bemused look and carried on with her narrative. "Walt was besotted with Peggy, wouldn't let her out of his sight. One day while he was working on a car up at his old garage a customer mentioned they'd seen Peggy with another guy. Walt went plum crazy and went into town with a shotgun. Turns out, the guy was Peggy's cousin from Iowa. Peggy was so angry with how Walt behaved, she left him. About a year later, she married someone else, and Walt never got over it."

"But you said Peggy died?" Sam exhaled.

"That's right. Peggy married a local cop named Johnson. They had a kid together and were happy as could be. Walt couldn't stand that. One day he took that old shotgun out again and killed Johnson and Peggy with one pull of the trigger. The cops found him hanging from the rafters of that ol place of his about two hours later. Course, that was all back in early 67…"

Sam started suddenly at the date. It was the date on the calendar back at the shack in the desert. "Walt's place, was it just off the highway? Is it still there?"

Loretta nodded and frowned at the boy's questions. "Sure is. In fact, Pete Garland one of the mechanics down at our local garage was thinking of buying it and starting up his own business. He was the first to visit that place since the cops after Walt killed himself there. Must have been derelict for more than thirty years…"

Dean scowled. It was all fitting together. Walt had died in the shack all those years ago, and the first person he'd had the opportunity to possess since had been Pete Garland. "This may seem like a dumb ass question, but the girls that have been killed out on the highway recently; did they look anything like your friend Peggy?"

Loretta licked her lips and both brothers noticed her aged hands had begun to shake. "Ye—ss, they did a little, but …"

Dean looked to his brother, perspiration forming on his brow as he took in the pain from his knife wound without showing it. "He's in Garland, and he's killing girls who _look _like Peggy. So, who the heck is next?"

Sam paced to the door and back, glancing every few seconds through the grimy window and then to his injured brother. "We're missing something here…" he pinched his nose and then looked straight back at their host. "You said Peggy Lee had a child? You never said if Walt killed the baby too?"

Loretta wasn't really following what the Winchesters were discussing. In fact, she suspected they might just be a pair of loonies. Still, she could answer their question. "Heck no, the kid lived. Peggy may not have lived to see it, but she had a lovely son. Grew up to be a fine member of the community too."

Sam let out a breath. He'd hoped Peggy had had a daughter. Then maybe it would have all hinged on her, the only living relative. "Now what?" He asked Dean dejectedly.

Dean stood from his perch on the chair and faced Loretta. He never gave up on a hunt. "Peggy's son would be about forty now, right? And he had at least one kid, didn't he?"

Before Loretta could respond, the old door creaked open as its hinges were forced back with a quick jarring motion. It was Herb, and he appeared flustered. "Honey, have you heard the news?" His voice raised into a high pitch as he scurried behind the counter.

Loretta huffed. "How in tarnation am I supposed to hear anything while I'm tending the counter? And weren't you supposed to be in bed, not watching TV?"

Herb ignored his wife and shot the two Winchester boys a bemused glance. "There's some kind of hostage thing going down at the hospital! It's on every dang channel, even the radio. Why this town hasn't seen anything this big since…" His voice trailed, but Dean easily finished the sentence for him.

"Since Peggy Lee got shot back in the sixties?" He raised a brow as Herb nodded, amazed that the newcomer knew so much about their town's history. Dean whirled to face Sam. "C'mon, cowboy, I think we just found Garland."

Sam nodded dolefully as he scooted out the door after Dean. "The question is, has Garland found his next victim already?"

"I don't know Sammy, but we're about to find out!" Dean hopped behind the wheel of the Impala, despite his injured shoulder. If they were going to hit the gas, then he was doing the driving. Sam tossed over the keys, knowing his brother only too well.

Within a second, the Chevy was kicking up a sand cloud as it churned up the desert floor with the raw power of it's bored out engine.

Dean slowed the Impala only when he spotted the police roadblocks surrounding the rather stylish town hospital. It was a much bigger place than he had imagined, and so was the police presence cordoning it off.

He slipped the Chevy onto a side road and killed the ignition, looking over at his brother for inspiration. "I think it's time we pulled out the ID's."

Sam opened up the glove box and pulled out their stash, but then paused, frowning. "How the heck are we going to masquerade as anyone in such a small town as this? I just don't think they'll buy it." He gestured out of the window. "The local sheriff will probably know everyone of his crew personally, and I doubt the feds would be here yet."

Dean pulled a face, and Sam wasn't sure if it was from the pain in his shoulder, or that he knew his brother was right. Eventually, he answered. "Okay, so we go on over and casually ask a few questions from the folks in the crowds. Find out what Garland is up to and what the cops are doing about it. Somehow, we gotta get in that building though, Sammy."

Sam agreed. "Want to wait here while I go check things out?" He was concerned about Dean's shoulder, but he didn't come right on out and admit it.

Dean shook his head, reading his brother's thoughts. "I'm not an invalid, Sammy. It's just a scratch." To prove it, he climbed from the Impala and headed towards the throngs of onlookers. Sam rolled his eyes and followed. It was going to be a long day, and Dean was at his most stubborn.

Dean milled among the locals, being careful not to arouse their attention, but still managing to get close enough to hear their conversations. Apparently, Garland had walked into the hospital without saying a word, and had entered the West wing about thirty minutes ago. People who had been evacuated from the hospital were saying he had pulled a shotgun and was asking for a certain nurse. At this point, no one recalled the name he had asked for, but one thing was certain. In Garland's mind, he was going to kill Peggy Lee all over again.

Something tugged on Dean's jacket and he turned to see Sam was back. "No way are we getting into the hospital the easy way," he offered dejectedly. "I just overheard a conversation with the cop in charge over there." He pointed to a man of about forty who was giving out orders to the head of the police SWAT team. "They've locked the place down tight. Anyone who can be moved has been transferred to another hospital, and only emergencies that can't make it to the next town are being allowed through into the ER. We need a Star Trek transporter to get into that place right now!"

Dean inhaled. Garland had to be stopped, and no police marksman was going to cut it. The cops just didn't know what they were dealing with. He let a hand slip under his jacket and rubbed at his shoulder without even realizing it. When his hand came away bloody he grinned roguishly.

Sam noted his brother's expression, but not the blood. "Why do I get the feeling you still think we can do this?" It wasn't really a question. He knew Dean too well for that. They were about to finish the hunt, he just didn't know how yet.

Dean pointed past the crowds to an ambulance, parked but with its lights still whirling in a kaleidoscope of color. "Sammy," he grinned, "You're about to change your profession.

Detective Sergeant Frank Johnson was not a happy man. He had about twenty minutes to resolve the situation with Garland before his superior arrived and pulled him off the case. Firstly, he didn't have enough seniority to be in charge of something this big- even though he definitely had the experience, but that wasn't the main reason why he was about to get pulled. He grimaced, thinking of what might be transpiring inside.

The cop had the thought of going on inside himself and trying to reason with Garland, but that thought was cut short by a commotion just beyond the yellow police tape that cordoned off where he now stood.

Johnson turned to see a young man arguing with a street cop guarding the area. He was clearly hurt, and wanted Johnson's attention. The detective raised a hand. "Let him on through…"

Dean inhaled. So far, so good. _Heck, and I'm not even having to act out half of this…_He kept a hand pressed over his shoulder, making sure the cop saw him do it. "I need to speak to someone…someone in charge." He slurred his words on purpose and swayed on his feet just a little as he got closer to the cop. "I know about the guy inside…"

Johnson looked Dean over. The kid looked a mess. "We should sit you down. Then you can talk all you want about Garland. Believe me, I'll be all ears." The cop motioned towards the front seat of an unmarked police cruiser, but Dean had no intention of getting that far.

"No time…" Dean let himself fall forward and managed to make his stumble appear genuine. Johnson tried desperately to catch him, but the move came too late and Dean soon found he was eating dirt. _Perfect. Now I let Sam do the work… _

Johnson quickly kneeled and noted the young man was pretty much out cold. It looked like he was bleeding quite badly from a gash to his shoulder, and the cop guessed quite correctly that it was Garland's handy work. He glanced across to where an emergency ambulance had been standing by in case of casualties. "Hey, I need some help over here!" Johnson yelled at one of his subordinates, who soon returned with an E.M.T. At least, that was what Johnson thought the young man was.

Sam gulped as he ran back with the cop. Of all the people he'd had to impersonate, a medic had never been one. If anyone asked him too many questions, things could get messy. It had been bad enough hijacking the two real EMT's and tying them up in the Impala, but now he had to get this cop to believe every word he said.

As he jogged towards Dean and Johnson, Sam felt a lump form in his throat. Dean looked pallid, almost grey even, and that was for real. _Just how much of this is he faking?_ The young ghost hunter frowned. Dean really did need treatment. Pulling away his brother's jacket to take a look at the wound only forced the thoughts home even further.

"I need to talk to this guy. He might have information about our whacko inside." Johnson leaned close and was watching Sam's every move. "Do we need to get him to the county hospital, or can you fix him up enough to talk too?"

Now Sam had to play his hand. If it worked out, Dean's plan would have been a winner, and they'd be inside within minutes. "There's no time to get him to County, he's lost too much blood. We need to get him inside right now." Sam hoped he sounded sincere enough.

Johnson frowned. "Are you sure? I can't risk peoples' lives by taking them inside unless it's absolutely necessary." When Sam nodded, the cops asked, "Just where the hell is your partner anyway?"

Sam grimaced. "He um, went to take a leak. I don't know why he isn't back yet." Thinking quickly he added, "Can you get somebody give me a hand to get him inside?" It sounded better than trying to do it on his own, but once they got in the hospital, they were going to have to ditch the helper.

Johnson shouted the cop back who'd brought Sam through the yellow tape earlier. "I want this guy right back out once you've got the injured kid inside. The least civilians in that building, the better!"

The cop nodded, and Sam sighed. They'd found their way in. Now they had to get rid of the cop once they got through the ER doors…

_Tbc..._


	5. Chapter 5

Sam pushed the gurney through the double glass doors like he had a real sense of urgency. The cop at the front had to be convinced this was real. The only problem was Sam wasn't sure it wasn't real. He _really _didn't like the look of Dean. He actually looked unconscious.

The younger brother frowned, and was just about to covertly tug on Dean's jacket sleeve for confirmation, when Dean opened one eye briefly and winked.

Sam sighed with relief and carried on pushing through into the ER. "I can take it from here," he told the cop, who was looking pretty nervous now that he was getting close to a possible killer.

"Detective Johnson said…" The cop looked sheepish.

A doctor clad in surgical greens approached. He peered over his glasses to Sam and then the police officer. "I'm afraid he's right," he nodded to Sam. "The less people in here the better. I suggest you go on back to your fellow officers outside. Your SWAT people are in place on the corridor. There's nothing more you can do."

Inside, the cop heaved a sigh of relief. Outside, he appeared to think about it at least two seconds before he scooted back the way he had come.

The doctor turned his attention back to his apparent patient. "What do we have here?" He demanded of Sam, fully expecting a report on Dean's condition.

Sam opened his mouth to respond with a suitable lie, when Dean abruptly sat up on the gurney. He smiled waywardly at the surgeon, despite how much the puncture to his shoulder was hurting. "We have a knife wound, and a pissed off spirit. Right now, the spirit takes priority!"

The doctor gaped as Dean slid himself off the gurney and cradled his arm. "Did you bring the stuff?"

Sam nodded and gently teased out two holdalls normally used for medical supplies back in the ambulance. With a yank, he tugged down the zippers to reveal EMT equipment had been replaced with two pump action shotguns, and a whole bunch of spectre killing items.

Dean grinned. "You're a _real_ life saver!" He plucked one of the shotguns from the first bag and cocked it. The motion jarred his shoulder, but he ignored the throbbing.

"Just hold it right there!" Sam and Dean looked up to see that two SWAT team members had converged on their position, weapons drawn. "Put the guns down, and place your hands on your heads, NOW!"

Dean ignored the order. "You might want to check with your boss before you screw this whole operation." He said emphatically. "My partner and I are about to go in there," he indicated the area where Garland was hiding, "undercover as civilians, and you're about to mess everything up!"

The Kevlar clad cop hesitated, but didn't drop his snub-nosed rifle. "You expect me to believe you're cops?"

Dean pulled a face and shook his head. "Nah, we're not cops, we're feds, and you're wasting valuable time!" He glanced over to Sam. "Show him our I.D."

Sam almost choked. Any fake identification they had was back in the Impala and Dean knew it. That meant one thing- Dean intended getting the cops out of the way, most probably with a punch. He hesitated, and then stooped to reach back down into the nearest holdall.

The cop beside him followed the motion with the barrel of his weapon, but Sam could already tell he was relaxing his guard somewhat. Dean was keeping the other cop busy with threats about time being of the essence, and that someone was going to lose their job.

Without warning, Dean cut off his sentence and yelled, "Now, Sam!" It was what Sam had been waiting for. As Dean disarmed one cop with the butt of his shotgun, Sam brought a wooden stake from his bag and used the blunt end on the other cop. Both officers didn't go down without a fight, but it was a fight the Winchesters knew they had to win.

The doctor looked on amazed as Dean, a once 'dying' patient, cuffed the cops to a gurney and removed any other weapons from their body armor.

Dean shrugged. "I guess it's true that what doesn't kill us makes us stronger…" He hopped back on his own gurney, stuffing the shotgun and one of the police rifles under the blanket close to his body. "Ready, Kildare?" He smirked at his brother.

Sam nodded and began to push as two more SWAT team members appeared. All the noise and commotion the two brothers had caused had soon alerted the cops that something was wrong. Now, Sam had to pull off a miracle. "Medical emergency here. I need to get him to the OR right now!" He zipped past the cops, straight into the corridor that led to the west wing and continued pushing the gurney like a mad man. "Hey, how come I get the donkey work?" He huffed.

"Because I'm the injured party, and because I got all that digging when we dealt with Joseph Cairns that time. Payback is a bitch, ain't it?" Dean was suddenly enjoying himself at the expense of his brother.

"Hey, hold it right there!" The two SWAT cops had realized they had been duped and were in pursuit. Sam only hoped they wouldn't shoot him in the back before he got through the next set of doors and out of sight.

"Keep going!" Dean kept his finger on the shotgun's trigger as they slammed through into the west wing. The cops behind stopped giving chase, but it wasn't really their presence he was worried about.

Sam spun the gurney around and wheeled it into a small side corridor store room and paused, panting. "I'm never playing nurse maid again," he cringed breathlessly. "Two more seconds and those cops would have had us." His shotgun magically reappeared from beneath the gurney, and he slid it under his stolen blue EMT's jacket.

Dean patted his brother on the back as he climbed off the gurney once again. "It's okay, dude, you won't be auditioning for 'House' anytime soon. Dean winked. "Maybe you'd manage a stiff on ER…" The jibe got him a mock punch, thankfully to his good shoulder.

"Come on, we have to be on our toes now. Garland could be anywhere." Sam grew solemn. It was time to face the devil, and they had no clue what he may have already done.

"Do you have dad's journal?" Dean took point, edging around the corner back into the corridor with his rock salt filled weapon at the ready, and the police rifle strung over his shoulder with the strap.

Sam patted his inside pocket and moved into the center of the passageway, following his brother's lead. He moved forward slowly, and then stopped dead as his ears picked up on something. He put a finger to his lips and then pointed towards another hallway to their left.

Dean nodded, moving so that his back slid along the wall up to the source of the noise. He didn't realize it, but as he skirted along the corridor, he left a smear of dark red blood behind like a snake's trail along the partition.

Sam grimaced, but didn't mention what he saw. Instead, he scooted across to the far side of the passage entryway and listened intently, his breathing becoming increasingly rapid. "I can hear Garland," he finally whispered.

Dean cocked his head, listening to the now familiar voice of a killer. Garland was threatening someone- no, a group of people. He sounded enraged, and when he didn't get the response he wanted, a resounding crack permeated the air as he let off both barrels of his weapon at the ceiling.

Both Sam and Dean flinched automatically at the booming sound, and then began listening again as Garland repeated his demands.

"Which one of you is Peggy Lee? I know you're here, slut, reincarnated in that bastard grandchild…"

The brothers heard a woman scream in fear, and more female voices, all refusing to answer a madman's demands.

Garland reloaded and began pointing his weapon at the group of nurses, one by one, letting the double barrel caress their skulls. "I'll kill each and every one of you if I have to. You may as well tell me which one of you is the little harlot, or you'll all meet my master…"

Silence abruptly filled the corridor, and Sam mouthed soundlessly to his brother, "He means it…"

Dean winced. They couldn't just barge in and risk more lives. Not until they could get a clear view of where Garland was in relation to his hostages. He was about to tell Sam as much, when Garland grew tired of waiting.

Another cacophonous blast filled the corridor, this time accompanied by a spray of blood that covered half the nearby wall. Some even strayed out into the corridor and splattered across Sam's cheek in an arc of crimson red.

Someone had died, and it was now up to Dean and Sam to prevent it happening again…

"You don't need to kill anyone else!" The voice was soft but urgent. The voice of a woman who was not afraid to face Garland. "I'm the one you're looking for."

Garland sneered reading the nametag on the young nurse's blouse. "Rebecca L. Johnson… you're just like her…"

"Like who?" The nurse cocked her head, still not realizing just who Garland really was. He may have the features of the local town mechanic, but the man she was talking to had been dead over thirty years.

"I' won't let you break any man's heart, and you will, just like Peggy did." Garland/Crenshaw moved around the small room until he faced Becky. He took her chin in his free hand and jerked her head around. "I bet the L in your name even stands for Lee, doesn't it? Just like her."

The nurse nodded. "Becky Lee Johnson, and proud of it!" She pulled her head free of his grasp, leering at him. "Dad named me after my grandmother."

Garland smirked. "A grandmother you never met, thanks to me." He dared to scoot to a nearby window, keeping low and peering through the half-closed blind at the cops outside. "Pity there will be no sacrifice with you, but the police aren't about to let me get out of here to my altar."

"Just who the hell are you? What have you got against my family?" Becky dared to stand, while the other nurses cowered on the floor.

Garland whirled back around, levelling his shotgun at the girl. "Crenshaw's my name. Ring any bells, lil darling?"

Becky gaped. The whole town had known who Walt Crenshaw was, and what he had done, but who the heck was this standing before her? Crenshaw had no living relatives. No one had gone to his funeral, and no one had ever tended his grave in Clairmount cemetery. "You're related to Walt?" She daren't to ask.

Crenshaw/Garland grinned before grabbing Becky by her hair and tossing her back to the floor with the others. "Know Crenshaw? Sweetheart, you're looking at him!" He rubbed at the stubble on his chin in thought. "Maybe I can make some kind of altar in here…" He looked around for something suitable to make his sacrifice upon.

Outside, Dean nodded to Sam. It was time for a full frontal assault, and they had to get it just right. Dean would go in first with the rock salt. Hopefully, he could get a clear shot and maybe knock Garland off his feet long enough for Sam to exorcise Crenshaw from his body. It was a long shot, because neither Winchester had faced an entity quite like this before.

Sam inhaled and pulled out their father's journal. It had a plethora of different types of exorcism rituals within its pages, and the younger brother could only hope he had chosen the right one.

"Now!" Dean yelled and stormed into the small opening with his shotgun at the ready.

As Dean barrelled through the corridor, Garland/Crenshaw turned at the sound of the brother's cry and brought up the shotgun of his own.

Crenshaw fired first, not caring who his buckshot hit if he was off the mark. Thousands of tiny lead pellets erupted from the shell as it blasted across the room. Some embedded harmlessly in the far wall; some went further astray, catching two of the nurse as they huddled together for protection.

Screams filled the west wing as all hell quite literally broke loose.

Luckily, Dean had expected Crenshaw's move and had hit the deck moments before the spook had pulled his trigger. He'd hit the carpeted floor hard on his bad shoulder, and for a second he'd been winded.

Dean huffed, but rolled over quickly before Crenshaw could reload, this time pulling his own trigger, and cocking the weapon to fire again twice in quick succession.

Crenshaw howled as the second blast caught him high in the chest, sending him reeling backwards through the air. While possessed, normal bullets had little effect on him, but the rock salt at least had the ability to knock him down.

"Now would be a good time, Sammy!" Dean pushed up from his position on the floor to see his brother settle on a page in their dad's journal.

Sam stood in the center of the room, facing off Crenshaw/Garland before he had time to recover from his position on the floor. He kept his voice low and in control. Never once faltering in his conviction as he spoke the Latin ritual. "Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde, in nomine Dei…"

Crenshaw howled as he realized what was happening. His spirit was being driven from Garland, and if Sam succeeded he would no longer have corporeal form. He struggled to his feet, looking down at where the rock salt had bit into his flesh. "I will finish the game!" He dived at Sam, but the brother continued unabashed, relying on Dean for protection as he finished the exorcism.

"…Sancti, ut descedas ab hoc plasmate Dei Phil Garland, quod Dominus noster ad templum sanctum suum vocare dignatus est, ut fiat templum Dei vivi, et Spiritus Sanctus habitet in eo. Per eumdem Christum Dominum nostrum, qui venturus est judicare vivos et mortuos, et saeculum per ignem…"

Sam finished just as Crenshaw/Garland was upon him. In the background, he could see Dean aiming his gun, but not wanting to fire unless it was necessary. Rock salt in the face wasn't good any time of day.

Crenshaw screamed as his hands curled around Sam's neck, trying desperately to pin him to the wall, but it was no use. Sam had picked the right ritual, and his spirit was now being torn from Phil Garland's body whether he liked it or not. His mind, his thoughts, all returned to their wraithlike state, trapped in limbo between this world, and the afterlife.

As Garland came to his senses, he backed away, aware of what he had done, but not having had the control to stop it. He began to shake uncontrollably, knowing that he had in a way brought this upon himself.

"Sam! Get down!" Dean yelled frantically to his brother, because although Crenshaw no longer had a body, he still hadn't finished the game.

Sam looked up just in time to see the ethereal presence of the killer floating towards him. He ducked, sensing an unearthly hand brush against his throat. Then, before Crenshaw could do any damage, Dean cocked his shotgun for the last time, tucking it hard into his frame before squeezing back on the trigger.

The gun's recoil hit him square in his wounded shoulder, as he knew it would, and he felt a jab of pain so intense he almost passed out. Across the room, the rock salt had a similar effect on his quarry. Crenshaw's disembodied essence dissipated in a roar of anger. He was gone- but only for a short while.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean teetered on his feet; fresh blood seeping through his shirt and jacket where the shotgun had tore at his wound.

Sam nodded and was about to answer when the police SWAT team thundered into the room. All the noise and weapons fire had been enough for Johnson to send them in before his superior arrived.

The team leader focused on Garland who still had two weapons tucked into his belt. "On the floor, NOW!" He was taking no chances after seeing one dead nurse and two injured on his way in.

Garland faltered. As far as the law was concerned, he knew he would be held accountable for all the murders, even though he had been possessed. At best, he could hope for a plea of insanity and live his life out in some sanatorium. Garland didn't want that. There was an easy way out- a way to make sure Crenshaw never returned to use him as some vessel for the devil.

"Hands on your head, and on the floor NOW!" The cop gave his order again, keeping his aim at Garland's heart.

"I'd rather not, thanks…" The mechanic reached to his belt for the knife he had stabbed Dean with, knowing what the cop's reaction would be.

Two seconds later, Garland lay dead on the floor with two hard nosed police issue slugs in his heart.

The SWAT team didn't loosen their guard, despite their target being down. "Everyone, hands on your heads!" The lead cop spoke to the group as if they were all offenders. After all, Dean and Sam had disarmed two of their number earlier.

Sam and the nurses complied. Dean, however, continued to sway on his feet, unable to keep balance if he did as the cop asked. He did drop the shotgun in his hands and was about to try to explain himself, when Detective Johnson rushed into the room.

The cop looked flustered, but then that was to be expected after his only daughter had been the target of a madman. "Becky, are you alright?" When the girl nodded, he continued into the room and made a point of heading for Sam and Dean. He addressed Dean first. "You accosted two EMT's, lied to me, assaulted two of my men, all to get in here. Why?" His tone was more than angry. He was demanding to know what the Winchesters involvement in the whole affair was.

Dean ignored the cop, focusing on his brother instead. There was very little time, and he had to make sure Sam got his priorities straight, because he knew no way could he be there to finish off Crenshaw. "Sammy, you have to find Crenshaw's grave before…before he can come back…again…" Dean's eyes rolled back until only the whites were showing and he collapsed forward onto the floor.

Detective Johnson wasn't impressed. "Sonny, you tried this one before, remember? It might fool a small town cop once, but not twice." Johnson reached back to his belt to unhook his cuffs.

Sam was just a little more concerned. Dean wouldn't pull the same stunt twice, would he? _Dean's not stupid enough to think Johnson would fall for it again, which means…_Sam panicked and kneeled, laying a hand on his brother's chest. It rose and fell painfully slowly, instilling a surge of panic in the younger Winchester.

Becky Johnson followed his move, pressing two fingers against Dean's neck. She didn't know what had just happened in the hospital for sure, maybe she never would, but she knew somehow that these two had just saved her. She owed it back to give them the benefit of the doubt.

"Dad," she looked up sombrely to Detective Johnson. "He's not faking…"

Sam floored the gas on the police cruiser he had just stolen and headed for the outskirts of town. The Impala would undoubtedly be in some police impound yard right now, and no way did he have time to covertly retrieve it. He had to get to Clairemount cemetery before Crenshaw manifested himself again. It had been Dean's wish, and he had to fulfil it.

At the thought of his brother, Sam flinched. What was happening to him right now? Sam had carried Dean into the ER personally before he'd absconded from the hospital. Becky Johnson had been at his side, bombarding him with questions. What was Dean's blood group, how long ago had he been wounded?

Sam had struggled to answer. He'd never seen Dean like this before- helpless…dying.

Sam shook himself and focused on the dark, tree shrouded road ahead. _You can't die from a shoulder wound. _He was kidding himself and he knew it. You could die from anything if you lost enough blood, and Dean had been bleeding for over two hours without any help. _But Dean wanted me here, doing what we do. He didn't want me moping in some hospital waiting room while a killer had chance to come back from the grave…_He shrugged off the thought and mopped his perspiring brow.

Becky had told him where to find Crenshaw's remains, and he was fast approaching the double wrought iron gates to the cemetery. He flicked off the cruiser's whirling lights that he had used to speed through throngs of night time traffic, and finally slowed the Ford.

The main gates to Clairemount were locked, but a smaller side gate allowing pedestrian access appeared to be still open. Sam shut off the car's engine and glanced around. Aside from a few small lights on the main footpaths, the burial ground was in complete darkness.

He sighed, and climbing from the car, he tugged out a police issue flashlight from its holder, followed by a small bag he'd brought with him. "Where the hell are you, Crenshaw?" Sam flicked the switch, illuminating his path as he cut through rows of headstones. The beam's stark glow was the only thing he had to find Crenshaw's memorial stone.

Something skittered behind him, and Sam turned about sharply, letting his light hover over nearby bushes until he was satisfied the sound had been from some wild nocturnal animal. He walked on, but then the sound came again, this time louder.

Sam licked his lips, sensing how dry they had become as his whole body tensed. He let the flashlight fan in an arc towards the source of the noise. There was still nothing, save for a headstone sitting on it's own in the corner. Sam closed in on it tentatively, kneeling as he finally reached the aged, pitted granite.

Sam swallowed hard. This was what he'd been looking for, but it had been just too easy. Someone, or something had led him here, of that he was sure.

_Walter Francis Crenshaw_

_1938-1967 _

There was no real epitaph, but then he hadn't deserved one.

Sam felt the earth before him with his free hand, and then tugged out a small fold-up shovel. Opening it out, he began to dig furiously at the ground. Each mound of dirt he tossed with the spade, he thought about Dean and what Crenshaw had done to him. The anger spurred him on to dig even faster, and within thirty minutes his shovel hit something hard.

He brushed away the dry, loose dirt to reveal rotting wood. It was the remains of Crenshaw's casket. Sam nodded to himself, and then took a glance up from the hole he had dug himself into. If Crenshaw's spirit wanted to stop him, he'd make a move soon. So far, the cemetery remained deathly silent. Even the moon was hidden behind a high cloud bank, making it appear as the world had been pitched into the darkness of hell.

Sam wiped a grimy hand across his sweating forehead and then took the spade up one more time. With one downward plunge the metal cut through the mouldy wood to reveal Crenshaw's off-white skeletal remains.

The skull seemed placed at an odd angle, and it appeared to leer at Sam as he emptied rock salt into the hole he'd made. "This one's for Dean…"

Sam quickly climbed from the open grave and delved into his bag for a can of fuel. He undid the lid with one twist of his wrist and sprayed the contents into the now open coffin. Once he was sure the container was empty, he tossed it back into his bag and pulled out a box of matches. "Goodnight, Crenshaw…" _I sound just like Dean…_

"Oh, but I don't feel at all like sleeping…" Sam turned, but all too late. Crenshaw's disembodied spirit had already wafted the matches from his grasp with one flick of his ethereal hand. With a second motion, he tossed Sam into the air and held him there, hovering over the open ground below like a moth to the flame. "Would you like to know what it feels like to be put in the ground, Winchester?"

Sam grabbed for the sawn off shotgun he had concealed under his jacket, praying he could get off a clear enough shot to disable the ghost, but somehow Crenshaw's hold over him prevented him even doing that. His arms just wouldn't move. "I'm not going anywhere." Sam tried to sound defiant, even though he had no idea how to stop his foe.

Crenshaw laughed, allowing Sam to fall almost back to earth- but not quite. Then, he slammed the younger brother up against the nearest tree until Sam thought some of his ribs were broken. Crenshaw moved closer as his victim gasped for air after being so badly winded. "You might not be going anywhere just yet…but your brother? That's another matter." The spook let his decomposing features come close to Sam's face. "Did it never occur to you, that while you're here trying to dispose of me, your own brother is _dying _in some hospital?"

Sam still couldn't move, but suddenly Crenshaw had every bit of his attention. _Dean's not dying…not dying… _

Crenshaw nodded, reading his thoughts. "Oh, but he is, Sammy boy, and you could be there with him when he draws his last breath, but instead you chose to persecute me to the bitter end." His presence moved back slightly, watching for a reaction, and getting one in the flash of acceptance in Sam's eyes. "Feeling guilty yet?" He pushed further, "You should be, because when your miserable brother passes over, I'll be waiting for him, and so will countless others he's forced from this world. It won't be pleasant for him on the other side…"

Sam could take no more. Even though he should have known better, he somehow drew the strength to fire a right hook at the spectre. His fist hit Crenshaw firmly on the jaw and then kept going until it passed straight through his head. There was no longer and substance to his being, and there was nothing Sam could do to harm him.

Only one thing could kill Crenshaw now, and Sam had no way to reach it. As he drew back his fist, he glanced frantically at where the box of matches had landed. _I have to do this for Dean! _

Again, Crenshaw read his thoughts and began to manically laugh at the brother's pitiful attempts to thwart him. "Maybe you'd like to die thirst, so you can be in hell together…"

A small scraping noise made Crenshaw pause before he came out with more sarcasm. The sound was both familiar and frightening, even to him- the sound of a match being scraped along the side of the box to ignite it.

"_Not everyone ends up in hell like you…" _

Crenshaw turned to see who was addressing him, but from his position, Sam could already see. There was no one behind them- at least, not in body.

The flaming match and the box that it had been struck against danced in mid-air all on their own. _"For everyone you have transgressed against, I send you back to hell, right where you belong!"_ The match flickered as it was invisibly tossed into Crenshaw's open grave, and combusted with the awaiting fuel.

Crenshaw screamed, and as his spirit began to burn he focused on his one last earthly act to choke the life out off Sam.

Sam struggled, trying desperately to tug away at Crenshaw's vile and rotting grip, but even now the murderer still somehow held onto his unearthly strength. Sam coughed, and his eyes began to close from lack of air. Darkness wrestled at the edges of his vision, beckoning to take him into unconsciousness.

More flames erupted from the grave beyond, and finally, Crenshaw's ghost began to lessen its hold on the material world. His fingers began to disintegrate into thin air as he watched in despair, and at last his body was sucked back into the darkness of oblivion.

The last thing that Sam heard before passing out himself was the cold, terrified scream of a madman being summoned back into hell.

Sam didn't know how much time had passed when he finally came too. It would probably have been hours if not for the soft, teasing voice calling him back to the real world.

"_Sam, you have to wake up…" _

He blinked, feeling at his throat where Crenshaw had attempted to strangle him. Then, he remembered Crenshaw's evil words about Dean and he jumped up with a start. As if to confirm Crenshaw's story, the teasing voice whispered through the darkness of the cemetery again.

"_You can't save everyone, Sammy, but you did well tonight…" _

It was the voice of the person who had struck the match- it was Samantha.

Sam glanced around frantically; needing to know more from the girl who had saved him, but there was nothing except for the same gentle breeze they had always felt in her presence.

"_You must leave here now. You have other work to do…" _

Sam spun around. "What about Dean? You know, don't you? Is he..?"

The breeze diminished as abruptly as it had come, and Sam was left alone in the graveyard desperately wondering if his brother was alive or dead.

His eyes began to water as he jogged back to the police cruiser and climbed inside, but he shrugged the emotion off. It would take at least an hour to get back to the hospital, and he had to stay focused. He quickly turned the key and fired up the Crown Victoria, slipping it straight into reverse to head back the way he had come.

Sam glanced back to Clairemount cemetery only once, and as he did his foot hit the car's brakes like a sledgehammer. For just the very briefest of moments, he was sure he had seen something behind the gates. Not one person, but a whole group of young girls, and at their front stood Sammy and a young and very pretty nurse.

"Peggy Lee?" As the words left his mouth, the almost transparent apparition faded, and the ghosts of those murdered on the highway could finally be at rest.

Sam shuddered, feeling an icy sensation fill the car's interior as if he had the climate control on. Then, as quickly as it had come, the chill was gone, and the spirits with it.

_Tbc.._


	6. Chapter 6

Sam slid the Crown Victoria onto a side street two blocks from the hospital and tugged out his bag. Hopefully, the police presence would be less now, and he would be able to get back in to see Dean pretty easily. _If Dean's still… _

He cut off the thought, and instead began to rapidly jog towards his goal. As he rounded the last corner, Sam's heart sank. Crowds still bustled around the hospital's perimeter. News teams and cameramen covered every angle of the facility. The hospital was a media circus, and it was still heavily patrolled by uniform cops, mixed with SWAT team members for good effect.

"Great…just great!" Sam left his small bag of ghost hunting tools under a line of bushes circling the hospital parking lot, and approached the cops at the main entrance. Luckily, none had been on duty while he and Dean had pulled their little stunt.

As Sam approached, the lead cop in full SWAT garb moved forward to meet him at the edge of the yellow tape marker. "Can I help you, son?"

Sam nodded. He hoped so. "I need to get inside. My brother was hurt earlier and I need to know he's okay."

The cop shook his head apologetically. "Sorry, but no one is being allowed in until the crime scene folks have done their stuff. Then there are bodies to be moved. I'm sure you understand."

Sam squirmed. He did understand, but Dean was his priority now. "I think my brother was hurt pretty badly by the guy who caused all this," he pointed to the hospital. "I really need to know that he's okay…" A tinge of sadness filled Sam's voice, and it wasn't just for the cop's benefit.

"I'll tell you what. I'll check in and see if I can find anything out for you, but I can't let you inside." The cop obviously felt sorry for Sam. "What's your brother's name? How long ago was he brought in?"

Sam filled in as much detail as he could, but he was wary of giving up too much. After all, on police records, Dean was already dead, and classed as a serial killer after the shape shifter fiasco.

The cop took down what he was told and after leaving a colleague in charge headed of for a mobile control unit several yards away.

Sam watched him go, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. What if the only news the cop could bring was bad? _How can I tell dad I left Dean to die?_

Sam almost hopped from foot to foot as he waited. The SWAT cop didn't appear to be in any hurry to come back, and Sam was about to get grouchy when he finally reappeared.

"I'm afraid it's not good." The cop pulled a face that said he wished he had more to convey. "They have no record of a patient being treated with the information you gave me. He could have been transferred to another hospital and with all the confusion inside the details aren't on file yet…" He didn't finish the sentence, but Sam knew what the cop meant. There was an equally good chance that Dean had died, and that wasn't on file yet either with all the commotion.

If Sam could have gotten inside, he could have asked the staff personally- maybe even gotten to talk to Becky, but right now he wasn't up to facing off half a dozen cops. "Thanks, for trying anyway." He nodded to the cop and turned away, wondering how he could face the next morning alone, if indeed Dean had gone. _He can't be! He's too strong, I won't accept it! Dad brought us up like marines. Marines don't give in and die without more of a fight… _

Sam's morose thoughts were broken as another cop from the mobile unit abruptly called him back. He stopped dead in his tracks at the words, but didn't turn right away.

"Hey, kid, are you Sam Winchester? The registered keeper of a 67 Impala with the Kansas license KAZ2Y5?"

Sam gulped. The Impala had been registered to him ever since Dean's supposed demise in St Louis, and it looked like they'd quickly traced it back after finding the two EMT's tied up in it. _Do I face them, or try to run?_ Running didn't give him much chance, not with the amount of cops about. Instead, he turned.

""That's me," he offered, wondering why the cops weren't screaming for him to hit the ground.

The cop nodded, satisfied. "I have a message for you from Detective Johnson. He says to let you know your vehicle and other items have returned to your motel. He'll mostly likely meet you there later to take your statement."

Sam found it hard not to gape. Not only were the cops not arresting him for gate crashing the hospital with Dean, they had taken the Impala back to the motel, even though it was strictly evidence pertaining to a kidnapping. He stammered a little, obviously flustered by the day's events. "I…erm...thanks." Before the cops could change their minds, he scooted back off the hospital grounds and began jogging back to the motel. _Just what 'other items' was Johnson talking about having returned? _

Sam made it back to the motel on foot in less than forty minutes. The sun was just rising as he turned into the lot to see the Impala sitting innocently near their room. It's raven-black shape and bright chrome wheels brought on a twinge of both panic and affection as he looked at it. This was Dean's car, always would be, no matter what the pink slip said.

Sam checked his watch, wondering if the hospital had returned to enough normality yet to finally give him an answer about his brother. He'd lost his cell phone back out at Clairemount, and there was no phone in their room, so he pondered asking Herb to make the call.

"I guess I should clean up first." He glanced down to see that his suspicions were correct. After his stint at grave digging, he looked more like a mud man than anything.

Sighing, he tugged out his key to the room and was about to slip it in the lock when he realized the door was already ajar. Sam's brow furrowed, and he gently pushed on it, peering through the gap to see just who awaited him.

At first, he didn't see anyone. The room appeared quite empty until he moved further in. Even then, he didn't immediately see the other presence in the room- not until the person began to moan softly in his sleep.

Sam spun around at the murmur, knowing the sound from many years before when they'd been kids, when his brother had fallen from a tree house their dad had made. "Dean!" Sam was so excited, he shouted out the name before realizing his brother was fast asleep in bed.

Dean moaned again and turned slightly, but he didn't awaken. He still looked pale, and dark circles made his eyes appear terribly sunken, but he was alive.

Sam wanted to hug him, to tell him how much he'd missed his sorry butt already, but he held back, knowing Dean needed to rest. His shoulder was heavily dressed front and back, and most of his clothes had been removed by the hospital staff. Someone had carefully covered him with blankets, however, and he was now snugly curled into them.

As Sam watched, afraid to take his eyes away fear his brother was an illusion, Dean began to lightly snore. The sound brought a smile to the younger Winchester's face, and he finally relaxed enough to notice two envelopes left on the table beside Dean's bed.

Picking them up, he quickly opened the top envelope first. It was from Becky.

_Dear Sam, _

_I still don't really know what happened back at the hospital, but I do know I owe you and your brother my life. Hopefully, I have repaid that kindness back by being able to return Dean back to you- almost in one piece. _

_He lost a lot of blood before getting help last night, and he's still pretty weak, so make sure he doesn't overdo things. It didn't take much to guess what a stubborn mule he can be, so the doctor gave him something to keep him out for a few hours. So, if he sleeps half of the day, don't worry. _

_I left a bag with extra dressings and two lots of antibiotics on the table. Make sure he takes them or his shoulder will get infected! _

_Thank you for everything_

_Becky _

Sam glanced over at the table to see the large brown paper bag that the nurse had left them. He only wished that he could have been here to thank her when they'd brought Dean back from the hospital.

He looked to the second envelope, already guessing who its author was.

_Sam, _

_It didn't take long after meeting you and your brother to find out who you really are, and what you really do. It's amazing what a quick police search can bring up these days, and I don't mean the business in St Louis. That, coupled with everything Becky told me happened in the hospital just seemed to make sense. I know and believe that Garland wasn't simply Garland, and that he would have killed my daughter in a heartbeat if you hadn't intervened. _

_Knowing this, I couldn't in all conscience allow you to be arrested for the crimes you committed while trying to save people. I don't have enough authority to get everything dropped, but I can hold back on my reports long enough for you to get out of the state. Take your brother and be out of town by midday if you can. I wish I had more time to meet with you, but sadly that can't be. _

_Thank you, God Bless, Godspeed, and Good Hunting! _

_Detective Sgt Frank Johnson _

The words in both notes somehow made all their risk taking worth while. Someone actually believed in what Sam and Dean tried to do. Frank and Becky were actually risking their careers to make sure he and Dean escaped.

Sam nodded to himself, happy that everything would be alright, and that Dean would recover. He moved to sit on the edge of his own bed and was only broken from his tired stupor when Herb bustled into the room.

He looked sheepish when he noted Dean still asleep and looking decidedly ill. "Sorry, fella, I didn't know your brother wasn't feeling too well, but I just got a message for ya'll…"

"Message?" Sam cocked a brow. "From Detective Johnson?" He asked expectantly, wondering if the cop hadn't been able to stall his counterparts after all.

Herb shook his head and handed over a small hand-written note. "The fella said you'd know what it meant?"

Sam read the scribble and his eyes widened. He didn't elaborate further to Herb. "Thanks. We'll be leaving early in about an hour if you want to re-let the room."

Herb nodded and rubbed at his chin, still curious as to what the cryptic message had said. He didn't question further, though, because he could tell Sam had no intention of telling. Instead, he turned tail and scurried back to his desk, ready to report the morning's happenings to his wife, once she returned from shopping.

Once Herb was gone, Sam began to furiously pack, tossing clothes, weapons and any other belongings into the Impala's trunk without any real thought as to tidiness. When all that was left to put in the car was Dean, he stole a last glance at the mysterious note before stuffing it into his breast pocket. One ride was over, and a new, even weirder one was about to begin.

The rocking motion of the Impala on the potholed back roads gently nudged Dean awake by teasing at his shoulder. He opened an eye, peering through it as if he had a prize hangover. It was bright outside, and from the position of the sun, he guessed it was probably mid afternoon. He opened his other eye and winced as the light made him squint.

"Where are we?" He hoarsely asked, tugging his body up from a somewhat slumped position against the side window.

Sam took his eyes from the road to look at his brother. "You're awake. How do you feel?"

Dean coughed and winced at the same time. "I feel like I got trampled by a bull, then skewered by its horns." He peered under the jacket Sam had wrapped around his shoulder and prodded the dressing Becky had applied. It appeared to still be dry.

Sam put his attention back onto the road as he took a left onto a better kept highway. "You gonna be okay? I could find the nearest town if you need more rest?"

Dean scowled. "I'm fine. It was just a scratch!"

"Just a scratch? Dean, you almost bled to death. You fainted in front of that cop and his daughter!" Sam couldn't believe how Dean always played things down.

"I did NOT faint. I was faking," Dean shot his usual roughish smile. "Girls always go for a wounded hero." He winked. "If you hadn't rushed us out of town I'd probably be having dinner with Becky already…"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, you were unconscious! They had to give you blood. You so did not get to try out your wily charms on her." Sam was finding it amusing now that his brother was so hell bent on feigning that he was okay.

Dean shrugged and wished he hadn't. It hurt like hell to move his shoulder. "Twenty bucks says different?" He grinned impishly, and Sam knew he was in trouble.

"You couldn't have…"

"How do you think they knew they needed to sedate me to keep me down?" Dean pulled a piece of paper from his inside pocket with a cell phone number on and Becky's address. "I woke up briefly before Becky and her dad brought me home."

Sam's eyes narrowed and he shook his head. "All that time I was worrying about you, and you were trying to romance some nurse!" He threw a mock punch across the car.

"Ouch!" Dean faked being mortally wounded. "Watch the shoulder will you!" He smiled again, settling back in his seat to switch on the tape deck. The thundering tones of his favourite rock music rumbled from the Chevy's speakers. "So, why exactly did we leave town so fast? You found us another gig already?"

Sam grew somber. Dean wasn't fit to go spook hunting and wouldn't be for days. And yet…

"We had to leave town or get arrested by the cops. Kidnapping those EMT's didn't go down too well."

"What else?" Dean could always tell when Sam had something on his mind. Usually it was about the visions he had, but this was something different.

Sam exhaled and checked his mirror. When he was sure it was clear, he pulled the Impala over. "I didn't find us another gig…Dad did. He sent co ordinates this morning while you were out for the count."

Dean looked surprised. "Where?"

"Back in Kansas." Sam slipped a hand over to the car's glove box and pulled out the slip of paper Herb had given him. It was crumpled now, but Dean could still make out the marine style directions.

"You figured out exactly where this is?"

Sam grabbed the laptop from the back seat and flipped it open. After tapping a few keys, he passed it over, sitting it gently on his injured brother's knee.

Dean whistled as he read the information. "Now this should be interesting…" He glanced at his brother expectantly. "So, do you believe someone can come back from the dead like this?" He tapped the screen.

Sam leaned forward and fired up the Impala, with a small smile he admitted, "I guess there's only one way to find out…"

Two seconds later, the heavy roar of the Chevy was all that was left of its presence as it slid over the nearest hump in the road, fading into the distance in the hazy afternoon sun.

The End


End file.
